


Pavlov

by WhoopsOK



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Collars, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sub John Reese, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17388971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: “I can’t wear it in public,” he croaks eventually, finally managing to look away from Harold’s hands to meet his gaze.“You aren’t meant to,” Harold replies easily. “It is for wearing only when you feel it safe to do so,” he continues, then stills slightly, adding on, “Should you wish to wear it at all, of course.”(Harold gets John a collar and only lets him come when he's wearing it.)





	Pavlov

**Author's Note:**

> Belated Kinktober Day 17: Masturbation, collaring, and orgasm denial.
> 
> Yet another fic in which John is happily collared, because it’s what he deserves, fight me.

It’s gorgeous, John loves it so much he can barely breathe at the sight of it.

There has never been any point in his life until now when anyone has suggested putting a collar on him as anything other than a joke. Something his handlers or colleagues said antagonistically in passing when they felt he’d gotten out of line. Never has it involved him kneeling before someone who so very clearly adores him, offering him something for play, yes, but also something deeply, profoundly personal. He can’t get his eyes away from the “ _J.R. Finch_ ” engraved in the gold-brass plaque, centered so it’d be readable if he left the top button open on his shirt. The thought makes his throat tight.

“I can’t wear it in public,” he croaks eventually, finally managing to look away from Harold’s hands to meet his gaze.

“You aren’t meant to,” Harold replies easily. “It is for wearing only when you feel it safe to do so,” he continues, then stills slightly, adding on, “Should you wish to wear it at all, of course.”

John swallows the lump in his throat. “I think you know I would.”

Harold’s smile is warm. “I might have thought so, yes,” he agrees. “May I?”

Bowing his head, because he doesn’t trust his voice to answer, John shuts his eyes as the softened leather closes around his throat. Harold latches it and settles his hands on the back of John’s head. “Removing it as necessary, you will care for and store it,” he says calmly. “You are always more than welcome to ask me to put it on, but you are not forbidden from doing so yourself.”

“Yes, Finch,” John says, already on his knees, but feeling like he’s sinking somewhere even lower.

Harold strokes his nape around the band of leather. “You are mine even when you are not wearing it,” he tells John gently, sending him rocking forward to press his face into Harold’s thighs. “You need not worry about anyone else’s formalities. This is meant to be something pleasant, not a stressor.”

“ _Yes, Finch,_ ” John replies.

For a moment, they remain like that. John basking under Harold’s attention as he normally does, Harold taking the time to pet him gently. Eventually, he has John stand to spare his knees, if for nothing else.

“Oh, one more thing, John?” Harold says as he gets to his feet as well.

“Yes—” John starts and it’s meant to be a question, “ _yes, Harold?_ ” but he loses track of his voice when Harold slips his fingers under the leather to tug him close. John’s breath stalls in his throat and Harold is close enough to feel it happen.

It makes his eyes brighten, even if he _just_ manages to keep the smirk off his lips. “You are only allowed to orgasm when you’re wearing it. Do I make myself clear?”

Heat rushes John in a startling and thorough wave. “Yes, Finch,” he answers and, for the first time in his life, actually thinks of himself in relation to the word _spoiled._

Harold Finch is a man thorough in his indulgences, especially when that indulgence is one John Reese.

John is nearly outside his body he’s so elated.

*

A couple weeks later, John is standing beside Harold’s seat on an empty subway about to sweat through his suit in spite of the air conditioning.

“I’m beginning to think you’re enjoying this,” he whispers through clenched teeth as Harold’s fingers tickle over his crotch.

Harold looks up from his phone briefly. “Is that not the point of this endeavor?” he asks passively, stroking two fingertips more firmly along the clothed erection. “Or did you imagine I agreed only for your benefit?”

“ _I’m gonna come,_ ” John hisses, embarrassed that a touch that light could get him so close when aided by the sound of Harold’s voice, the idea of bringing Harold pleasure. He’s shaking when Harold’s hand falls away.

“I don’t think you will,” Harold says with a pointed glance at John’s collarless throat. When John gives him a look that would almost count as sour, Harold smiles slightly. “Deep breaths, Mr. Reese.”

*

It’s not that John is unused to spontaneous sex, he’s just used to it…happening in very specific places. The library, the safe houses, the apartment, Harold’s _real_ house—places John would bring or store his collar on instinct. They are in none of those places tonight.

They hadn’t meant to stay in this hotel after they resolved the Number, but they resolved the number faster than usual and it’s pouring. No sense in trekking across the city in the rain, so here they are, tangled in expensive sheets, Harold propped up so John can thrust into him easily, stroking him off in time with his movements.

Harold comes with soft cries of John’s name, petting his hair, petting his face with clumsy hands. “Good boy,” he breathes and John doesn’t whimper, but nobody would believe that if they’d only seen his face. He crumbles, pressing his face against Harold’s throat. “Good boy, John, very good.”

John is still throbbing hard inside him, Harold’s hands warm on his bare neck. He doesn’t whimper even then, but he does let out a frustrated little groan, even as he lets Harold draw him up to his face.

“Go shower,” Harold says, kissing him sweetly. “Cool, not cold.”

*

John is well beyond the point of shame.

Of course, Harold doesn’t give loose rules unless he means for the leeway to be used. John could’ve masturbated with his collar on, could’ve sent Harold the pictures to be a tease. But he doesn’t, he doesn’t want to, it makes him feel good to wait on Harold. To a point, anyway.

Walking into Harold’s home office stark naked is not at all subtle, but sometimes a scalpel isn’t as useful as a hammer.

Harold does a double take, before going pink and laughing slightly. He closes his laptop, turning to face John completely. “Are you looking to come, Mr. Reese?”

“Please,” John says, closing the door behind him.

“Your collar?” Harold asks mildly. He takes it when John offers it, “Excellent, John, kneel here.” He does. Harold clasps it around his neck and John goes diamond hard almost instantly.

“Touch yourself for me,” Harold says and John does, instantly, tingles all over at the sensation. “How would you like to come?”

“I don’t think I can wait for anything fancy,” John tells him quickly.

Humming faintly, Harold traces his fingers over John’s face. “Perhaps later on, then, if you’re willing,” he smiles when John lets out a harsh breath at that. He grabs John by the collar, pulling him up off his heels to kneel up. “For now you may, ah, take the edge off, I suppose,” he says, the end muffled from leaning forward into a kiss.

John doesn’t bother trying to drag it out, letting himself jerk through his orgasm with Harold’s fingers stroking his hair, tucked under his collar. It’s not embarrassing in the slightest, it’s spine tingling after so long. It’s also practical.

It gives his refractory period time to get ready for whatever Harold will let him do later on tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading…have you given yourself a good time lately?
> 
> That crotch-tickling-while-ignoring-you-on-a-subway thing is from a gif I saw on tumblr ages ago and it was Very Hot, tbqfh. Every now and again I wonder where the hell it came from and why I never saved it.


End file.
